Auctioned to Him 2: His for a Week

by Charlotte Byrd

  “No, seriously, you owe me nothing,” she says with utmost seriousness. “I will not accept any money. But you can pay me in another way,” she says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  “Anything.”

  “You promise to do it?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest. “You have to promise before I tell you.”

  “Okay, I promise,” I say nonchalantly even though I’m already regretting the decision.

  “You have to promise me to kiss someone at this party. A guy. A cute guy.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Hey, you promised!” she says, pointing at me.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll try,” I say. I look at myself in the mirror. I do look beautiful. While I’m straightening out the dress, I catch the tag hanging from the bottom. Suddenly, I realize the meaning of sticker price shock.

  Holy crap! I’ve never owned a dress for that much before.

  “Juliet, this is too expensive. $450 is too much. You have to let me pay you for it.”

  “You are paying for it. You’re going to kiss someone at this party. That’s going to be a lot of work for you, so I’m going to get my money’s worth.”

  “And how’s that exactly?”

  Julie leans closer to me. “Alice, darling, I’d pay three times that much if that would mean that I would no longer have a roommate who mopes around our room thinking about her ex all day long.”

  “I don’t do that!” I say, but I know that’s not true. I had just hoped that I’d been dealing with this Tristan thing in such a way that no one has noticed. But I guess not.

  “You do too. But hopefully not after this weekend,” she says. And then her voice gets really serious. “Alice, I just want to show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

  “And what’s that exactly?”

  “Life as a hot and single 18-year-old in the coolest city in the world. This can be the best year of your life if you play your cards right.”

  I think about that for a moment. Juliet’s right. Of course she’s right. I’ve been letting this whole situation with Tristan prevent me from really going out there and live my best life. And I deserve that. At least, according to Oprah Magazine. I know that on an intellectual level. But it’s about time that I actually knew that on an instinctual level. I do deserve to be happy. I deserve to have a good time. I deserve to have fun.

  “That sounds good,” I say. I sit back on my bed and watch Juliet change into her dress. This weekend is going to be my do over. My new beginning.

  17

  Dylan’s party is already in full swing when Juliet and I arrive. I’ve never been to such a beautiful apartment before. It’s an astonishing corner property with an enormous wrap terrace. Dylan gives us a tour around the living room, dining room, two master suites, and the three bathrooms. Every room is a corner with two exposures and access to the terrace and there are more than 1000 square feet of outdoor space. Almost every window in the place has a view of the park.

  “This is as good as it gets as far as white glove, full-service, pre-war condos with views of the park are concerned,” Dylan explains. “It was practically a steal at $6 million.”

  My mouth drops open. I turn to Juliet, but she doesn’t seem fazed. I haven’t been living in New York for long, but I’ve noticed that few real New Yorkers will go out of their way to act impressed with something. Unlike in LA, where people act excited over the smallest things, like having coffee in the same café as Seth Rogen. I’m not sure Los Angelenos are any more impressed than New Yorkers. I’m just certain that they act as if they are.

  While Dylan pours us our drinks, I look around at the other guests at the party. Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect. I was thinking that it would either be an elegant affair or a typical college party. But this is a mashup. A bunch of college kids in expensive suits and five-inch Christian Louboutin heels and plastic red cups and beer pong.

  And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot them. Tristan and Tea. Dancing to Taylor Swift. Shit.

  “Hey. Hey, Alice!” Juliet tugs at my arm. I look up at her.

  “You’ve been staring at them for close to a minute.”

  I roll my eyes. “So?”

  “So? I want to remind you about a little promise that you made to me. To kiss someone tonight? Do you remember that?”

  “Yes, I remember. But the night’s young,” I say.

  “It may very well be. But it won’t stay that way if you waste your time staring at your ex and his new girlfriend.”

  “Oh shut up.” I turn on my heels and walk away. I make a big show of leaving, but I’m only partly kidding. I’m glad that she’d pulled me out of my trance. Now I just need a moment to regroup.

  The door to one of the rooms is partly ajar. Perfect! I need some privacy. I push the door open and enter a large, spacious office. I look around at the gorgeous built-in shelving that lines three walls of the room.

  “There’s so much mahogany in this space, it makes me wonder if there’s any left in Central America,” Dylan says.

  “Oh my God, you scared me!” I jump. “Sorry I’m in here. I was just getting a little claustrophobic out there.”

  “Yeah, seeing your ex with a date would do that, huh?” he smiles. I know Dylan means well, but sometimes he can be such an asshole.

  “And why are you hiding out?” I ask. He shrugs and comes closer to me.

  Man, he really is good looking. He’s got well-defined arms and a strong jaw. Kind eyes.

  “I like your hair like that,” he says, looking at me. I usually wear my hair up in a ponytail or a loose bun, but today I’m wearing it down per Juliet’s instructions. I’m also wearing lipstick. Shimmery and pink. It feels sticky, but it does make my lips pop.

  I smile and flutter my eyelashes like I’m some sort of 1960s movie star or Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. But I don’t do it on purpose. Earlier that evening, Juliet had glued on my first pair of false lashes and they’re so heavy that I can barely lift up my eyelids.

  Behind Dylan is a wall of track and field trophies.

  “Wow, are all those yours?” I ask. A big smile sweeps over his whole face, lighting up the room.

  “No, not all. Some of these are my dad’s. He ran in high school and college, too.”

  His words glow with pride. But then a tinge of disappointment sets in.

  “Families are complicated, aren’t they?” I say. He knows that I know a little bit about what had happened between him and his father. And he has made no secret of the fact that his father is in Europe and this party is taking place without his consent.

  “It’s funny how similar we are, really. How much we have in common and how much we still don’t get about each other,” he says.

  “Maybe the things that you don’t get about each other are the things that you don’t fully understand about yourself. Perhaps that’s what makes it so hard,” I say.

  “Maybe.” He shrugs and changes the subject. “Agh, enough about the disappointment that I am to my father. This is a fucking party, right? Are you having a good time?”

  “Definitely.” I nod and take a gulp of my drink. “Oh so, I meant to ask. How’s Peyton?”

  The expression on Dylan’s face falls a bit, but not so much that I really pay much attention to it.

  “She’s good.” He shrugs. “She couldn’t make it tonight. Had some school thing come up.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry about that. Well, thanks for having me here to celebrate with you!”

  I throw my arms around his neck and give him a brief hug. And suddenly, something changes. It’s uncanny how it’s possible to enter a moment thinking you’re on a plane of existence and then find yourself on an entirely different plane altogether. Well, that is precisely what had happened.

  I hugged Dylan as a friend and a roommate. And in our brief moment, a thought popped into my head. What if I kiss him? And when I pulled away, I no longer saw Dylan, my roommate and my friend. Instead, that Dylan had somehow morphed into a
n entirely different creature: a crush.

  And then I did something even more insane then simply think a crazy thought.

  Before I pull away completely, I lean in and press my lips onto his. He tastes of vodka and olives and his lips are soft and warm. At first touch, there’s a moment of hesitation. I feel his body questioning what’s going on and wait for him to push me away. But he surprises me. Dylan takes me in his arms and presses his body close to mine. When he runs his coarse tongue on the inside of my lips, my legs feel as if they’d fallen asleep.

  “You kissed Dylan? Dylan? Our roommate, Dylan?” Juliet asks back in our room at 5 o’clock in the morning. I have no memory of getting home, I don’t even know if we’d taken the subway or a cab, but I remember everything about that kiss.

  “Hey, I promised that I’d kiss someone tonight, right? Well, I did,” I say, flipping over on my side to face her.

  “When I made you make that promise, I wanted you to kiss someone new. Not another one of our roommates.”

  “Well, you should’ve been more specific.” I smile.

  “Okay, fine.” Juliet rolls her eyes. “Do what you want. I just don’t want you to get hurt, right? You know that I’m just looking out for you.”

  “You don’t need to look out for me,” I say. “Dylan’s a nice guy. You know that.”

  “Yes, I know that. I also know that his girlfriend of 2 years, Peyton, had just broken up with him today. On his birthday. So he’s not someone who’s in the best state of mind to start up with at this point.”

  Juliet goes on and on, but I stop listening after she mentions Peyton.

  Peyton. Of course, Peyton.

  I had completely forgotten about Peyton. About the very existence of her.

  “They broke up?” I ask. I can’t believe that they’d broken up.

  But then again, she did tell me that they did have the tendency to break up and make up.

  As if she knows what I’m thinking, Juliet says, “It looks like it might be for good this time.”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if their break up is a good thing. I don’t know if I want them to still be together. Either way it’s complicated.

  “Okay, fine, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” I finally admit. I half expect Juliet to gloat, but she surprises me. Instead of reveling in being right, she just sends me a sympathetic look.

  “On the other hand,” she says, “it was just a kiss right? No big deal.”

  Yeah, maybe not. Except that it is. Dylan is the first person whom I’ve kissed since kissing Tristan exclusively, for two years.

  Well, except for that other guy…

  18

  His name was Darren. I was a senior in high school. Tristan and I had been in a long distance relationship for seven months and Darren was my partner in AP Physics. We had gone to the same school for four years, but I’d only met him that January. In fact, I’d never even seen him before. He swore that he had seen me, but I wasn’t so sure.

  Darren had short dark hair, the color of roasted chestnuts, and disarming blue eyes. Unlike Tristan, he was quiet and somewhat shy. He never made witty comments or jokes in class. He rarely raised his hand, let alone answer questions directly, without being asked.

  He was basically the opposite of everything that I loved about Tristan. And yet, I found myself inexplicably drawn to him. During the first month, I loved how he had made me laugh and appreciated his friendship. Somewhere, in the middle of February, around Valentine’s Day, I started to feel something more.

  The night before our project was due, I stayed late while we put on the finishing touches on the presentation. After going over it one last time, we decided to celebrate with some of his dad’s bourbon. After drinking a full glass of bourbon, our inhibitions were somewhat relaxed. Even now, I don’t know how it happened. But suddenly, he leaned close to me. He brushed a few strands of hair out of my face and kissed me.

  I had been lying to myself about my feelings for Darren for some time. Tristan was gone and I was lonely. And Darren…well, he was around. He was funny. And sarcastic. And cute. But mostly, he was just around. I had no overwhelming desire to be with him and, I hate to admit it, but if Tristan was still around, I wouldn’t have given Darren a second thought. But I hadn’t seen Tristan in person for a long time, and it felt nice to have someone’s arms around me.

  Darren and I made out for close to an hour. It never went further than just kissing. He grabbed my butt once, but I pushed him away. It was just the kissing that I had craved. And with my eyes closed, I was transformed to another time and place where Tristan and I were together and everything between us was fine.

  I heard his mom’s hurried footsteps coming down the stairs before she came in and pulled away from Darren just in time. She only wanted to ask if we were hungry and disappeared back upstairs after hearing that we weren’t, but that was enough to break my trance.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” I said to Darren. “I have a boyfriend.”

  His disappointment brought pain to his face, but I had bigger things to worry about. I had cheated on Tristan.

  That night, I couldn’t sleep a wink. The second night, I tossed and turned and had a nightmare that Tristan had met someone else. The following day, I decided to tell Tristan.

  I told him everything. How I met Darren. How were assigned to be partners. How we had started hanging out. And finally, I told him about our kiss. Our very long kiss. For more than a moment, I was tempted to keep the length of our kiss out of it. But a pang of pain throbbed through my body, and I decided to tell him everything. No half-truths. The whole truth.

  Tristan listened carefully. He asked questions. I cried and sobbed and told him how sorry I was. I could hear the pain that I’d caused him on the phone. I felt awful, but also relieved. I had unburdened myself, selfishly. And burdened him in return.

  “I need some time to think about this, Alice,” he finally said. There was an unfamiliar tone in his voice. It echoed of disappointment and defeat. I’d never heard it before and a crippling pain closed in around my throat.

  “I’m so so sorry,” I managed to get out before he hung up.

  That night was the longest night of my life. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t even bother to change into my pajamas. I simply lay on my bed, curled up in the fetal position, and waited. Time passed quickly. And then slowly. It had no meaning to me anymore. What if this is it? I wondered. What if we’re over? The very thought of that frightened me beyond belief. But why was I so scared? Not just because I loved Tristan. But also because Tristan and I were a couple. And we had been together for so long that I no longer knew who I was without him.

  The following morning, Tristan called me. He said that he was hurt, but that he still wants to be with me. That we would get through this.

  A huge wave of relief swept over my whole body. His words lifted the ten-thousand-pound-truck off my shoulders.

  I had been unfaithful and I would never do it again. All I wanted was a second chance. And I had gotten it. I was off the hook. Everything was going to be okay now. I thought naively.

  But the thing is that a relationship’s like a vase. Once it’s dropped and gets a chip in it, it can be repaired. Fixed. And the damage can be covered up. But the crack and the memory of the damage remain. And it will always be a little weaker in the place of the original crack.

  19

  The first thing he does is wink at me with those intense brown eyes.

  “So, here you are in New York City. Finally,” he says.

  It’s October and the leaves are starting to change. The entire city is soggy and putting off a strong pungent smell of decomposing plant matter. The sidewalks glisten from the light rain, which has been falling all afternoon. Headlights flood Broadway, blinding me at every step.

  Nick Thomas, our childhood friend, walks behind me. I’d known about his plan for a visit for some time, but the day still crept up on me, leaving me unprepared. Nick has been one of Tris
tan’s best friends since middle school and I’ve known of Nick for many years. But it was only in the last two years of high school that we’d really gotten close. Nick is tall and lanky, close to 6’4’’ and only 170 pounds. He came to campus in a cab and I waited outside my building to let him up.

  Nick’s not wearing a coat. The temperature is in the low 50s, but he’s only wearing a light sweater, jeans, and flip-flops. I’m about to ask him why when I remember that he never really wore a coat. He took some unusual pride in the fact that he never got cold, no matter how cold it was outside.

  When we enter the living room, Tristan, Dylan, and Juliet are there waiting. Tristan gives him a warm hug and takes care of the introductions. After a dinner of pizza for the guys and salad and soup for Juliet and I, we all decide to go out to Lion’s Head Tavern, a bar on Amsterdam Avenue. It’s Tristan and Dylan’s favorite mainly because it’s a dive bar that serves greasy food and accepts poorly made fake IDs. Nick doesn’t have one, but luckily the bouncer doesn’t card him. Too tall, probably, I decide.

  “So where do you go to school?” Dylan asks.

  “Just a local school. Cal State Northridge. I live at home,” Nick says with a sigh. “Agh, I’m so jealous of you two. Your dorm is amazing. And you get to live with girls. Imagine that.”

  Tristan’s had a couple of drinks already. “Well, not just girls. My ex-girlfriend,” he jokes. I’ve had two drinks as well and laugh along with everyone else.

  “Yes, things could’ve been better.”

  “Oh please, you two have been friends forever. This is just a blip in your otherwise smooth relationship.” Nick waves his hand.

  Tristan and I exchange looks. I hope that he’s right.

  “So how are your folks?” I ask. I’ve always loved Mrs. Thomas. Practically every night that we’ve spend hanging out in Nick’s basement, she came downstairs with a batch of freshly baked cookies.

  “Fine. The same.” He shrugs.